Dreams to Carry Me Away
by Country Timelord
Summary: She dreams of the people she cursed and the one person who she has yet to touch. Another story for the Daddy's Girl Series.


**Dreams to Carry Me Away**

I was running faster than I had ever run before, as flames that could melt the Arctic a thousand times over following me. The skies over my head were blood red from the flames, making it seem like a permanent wound was tearing through the heavens.

They were chasing me. The spirits of all those who I had brought this curse upon were chasing me and I knew they would win. I wanted them to win. I ineeded/i to feel the pain of their death like they felt it. I deserved it. So, why do I keep running? Self preservation? Denial? Hope?

Everyone I touched had died, my mother, grandparents, everyone except Dad. What happens when he can't shrug off this curse anymore? What happens when his heart is forced to stop beating and causes mine to shatter?

And, now that's what was happening as he appears in front of me out of seemingly nowhere. His arms open to shield me from the flames. I run into them, but even as I'm running his face scrunches up in pain and he falls to the ground. Blood pours from a wound in his chest and leaches onto my hands. Why must they be stained? I'm still a child and yet the blood that covers my hands is thicker than any serial killer.

"Dad," I whisper to him, but he doesn't answer.

His eyes hold pain denial, disbelief, and something I deserved no more…love.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Don't leave me, Daddy. I need you."

He may have been about to say something, but he never got to; because he crumbled into ashes in my hands. My father's blood that had stained my hands was now covered with a layer of pale ashes.

I scream as my throat grows raw.

I body was wracked with sobs. I embraced them until I felt a cool breeze blow over me and soft, warm arms.

"Hush," the voice of a woman whispered.

I turned around to see a woman. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders; as she holds me tight to her chest. Her face is devoid of any jagged edges—completely smooth and calm, like the surface of still water. I feel like I should know her, but I don't.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"A friend," she whispers, her voice sweet and kind, like warm honey as it runs over me.

"My dad, he's gone," I whisper. "Everyone is."

"Shh," she coos again. "It's okay. It's not your fault. It never was and it never will be."

"But…" I start.

"No," she says sternly letting her eyes bore into mine. "It's not."

I nod, but I'm not sure if I believe her.

"Sarah," the woman mummers suddenly, "I need you to do me a favor and…"

The woman fades from my view and tears begin to fall from my eyes, and Dad's voice fill me ears once again.

She was dressed in white. Some of her hair was gathered in the back, but the majority was falling over her shoulders in elegant blonde waves. Her eyes shined brightly as I take her hand and slide a golden ring on her fingers. Our lips meet in a kiss, and when we part we are in completely different scene.

She holds something behind her back, and instructs me to close my eyes. I comply and feel one of her hands guiding mine into hers pressing something into my hands. I open my eyes to see the slender white stick with two blue lines running across the test area. I meet her joyous beam and embrace her tightly in a sweeping hug.

She's begging to show now. The small baby-bump protrudes as she guides my palm over it, while she drifts off to sleep. She tired quickly now, the strain of a partial Gallifrean pregnancy already showing. I wait until she falls asleep to close my eyes and pray for our child, not wanting to show her just how afraid of how this will turn out in the end.

Screams, my daughter's screams awaken me from my dreams. The last words of my beloved wife ringing through my brain, "iMy Doctor, never forget…/i'

"iSarah…Sarah…wake up for me…Sarah…/i"

The voice is so soft that I think that I'm still dreaming.

"iCome on Sarah…/i"

I comply with the voice and open my eyes to see his face swimming into my vision. His smile overtakes the burning flames that had once consumed and over-whelmed my conscience.

"Dad?" I mutter, still half asleep.

"In the flesh," He says with a grin.

Tears threaten to spill over again, but I force them away, as I sit up and lean into him. He feels so real. I hadn't realized until now that the dead father of my dreams made my arms feel hollow— his blood strangely cold. Now, feeling each breath against me, the stubble on his chin rub against my cheek and his strong arms, I wonder how I could have ever been fooled by the dream.

"You're alive," I mutter into his chest.

I tried to make my words silent enough that he wouldn't catch them. I wanted the words that fell from my lips to be confirmation for me and only me, but this was Dad and I. I don't think there has been a time in my six years of existence that Dad hasn't been able to read me like a book.

He tenses slightly as the words reach his ears, but he keeps his voice calm as he rubs my back and whispers in my ear.

"What did you dream, Sarah?" Concern drips from his words and shower me with love.

"It was all my fault, everything was…and it touched you to…and then the woman," the words pour out in incoherent sobs.

"Take it easy," he whispers again, as he moves from his place kneeling on the floor and slides next to me on the bed.

He holds me to his chest and smoothes back my blonde locks of hair that stick to my wet cheeks.

"Slow down," he commands gently and dries my tears with a handkerchief that he always seemed to have.

I nod my compliance and slowly explain my dream. I feel my body start to tremble again as I relive the pain and loss again over in my head.

"What did the woman look like?" Dad asks me quietly.

"She was blonde," I whisper.

"Come here," he whisper, as he got to his feet and opens his arms.

I crawl into his arms again, and he lifts me into his arms, as he carries me into his room. He ruffles my fair fondly as he sets me down on the edge of the bed. He leaves me for a moment before returning with a heavy book in his hands. He flicks on his bedside lamps and rests next to me, as he pulls me into a one armed embrace.

He rests the book in his lap for a moment as if he's afraid to open it. The cover is plain with a simple pattern of pastel pink and yellow vertical strips with a single red rose pattern pressed into the cover.

Slowly, Dad lets his hands open the cover to the first page, where a pressed rose fell out and onto the floor. I scurry off the bed and pick up the delicate flower and hand it back to Dad.

"It was from your mother's wedding bouquet," he admits, as he turns the page and reveals the picture of a woman.

Her beautiful blonde hair falls over her shoulders, as a long floral skirt flowed its way around her ankles.

"But…that's," I stutter.

"You mother," Dad whispers, and I see rare tear escape his eyes.

"She was in my dream." I whisper to him dumbly.

"Yeah, mine to," he tells me.

"That's impossible," I tell him.

"So was your mother."


End file.
